


What could have been

by cobain_cleopatra



Series: Little Crow Oneshots [6]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Daud's POV, Dishonored AU, Grief/Mourning, Grumpy Daud, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Regret, Reunion, whaler Corvo, younger Corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-28 17:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10835760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobain_cleopatra/pseuds/cobain_cleopatra
Summary: Chapter 1: While dwelling on Corvo's fate in Holger Square, Daud overhears his men talking.Chapter 2: Rinaldo comes to Daud with unexpected news.





	1. After the surge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kasuminoyuutsu](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kasuminoyuutsu).



Daud had wanted peace and quiet. Silence, if such a thing were possible among his boisterous men.

Then again, no one had been particularly lively in the past days. Not since the surge. Not since they had lost six- _Seven_. Not since they had lost _seven_ of their own. And the sight of Overseer bodies still slumped around the District didn’t exactly work to raise spirits.

The archive room was normally undisturbed this late into the afternoon, though Daud could have stayed in his office. It was the quietest option. But it was also the last option. He couldn’t spend another damned minute wallowing in there and seeing _him._ At the desk. Browsing the shelves. Perched on the bed with a bleeding lip after his latest fight with Julian. Daud couldn’t stomach it anymore.

So Chester’s domain, surrounded by books and worn down candles, was the only alternative, and Daud had anticipated it to be empty. Most adept Whalers were out scouting for Stride’s location, and the novices had no reason to leaf through the archives.

So it was rightfully unexpected that Daud should hear voices inside.

“Shh. It’s alright, Quinn.”

“It’s not fucking alright though, is it.” Quinn’s voice sounded horribly thick. “It’s never gonna be alright.”

Daud risked a glance around the archive room door. Quinn was buried against Thomas’ arm, his shoulders trembling with quiet sobs. Thomas was trying his best to calm him.

“Fucking Overseer bastards.” Quinn’s curse was stifled by Thomas’s uniform. “Can’t we– can’t we try and get him? He might have– He might be okay–”

Thomas closed his eyes briefly, looking pained. “We can’t, Quinn. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, Tom, we’ve lost too many people. He’d come for _me,_ if it was me there instead– I can’t let him–”

“There’s nothing we can do.” Thomas sifted a gloved hand through the Whaler’s hair, pulling him closer. “I’m sorry.”

Quinn continued to sob against him.

From beside them, Arden gave Quinn’s shoulder a tight squeeze. “Been a shite few days,” he grunted. “Fuckin’ Billie.”

“I still can’t quite believe it,” Feodor said, nursing a bottle of something between his hands. “How could none of us have seen that she had moved so far against us.” It was disconcerting, to hear his voice waver so. Feodor was usually the most level-headed of them all. “Should we have expected it? Expected _something?”_

Corvo had. Corvo had expected it. Daud hadn’t listened, and now here they were.

“Ain’t no use beatin’ yourself up over it, Fee.” Arden took two gulps from his own bottle, and wiped his mouth on the back of his shirt sleeve. “Ain’t nothin’ more you could’ve done.”

“I could have done more for Misha,” Jordan muttered. “Poor bastard. I was right next to him when they–”

“Don’t,” Galia shushed him. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“She’s right, Jordan,” Thomas said, rubbing Quinn’s arm gently as the man’s sobs settled down.

“Indeed.” Feodor offered Jordan his bottle. The Whaler accepted it gratefully. “No good can come from blaming yourself.”

 _Can it not?_ Daud thought bitterly. He seemed to be doing nothing else, of late.

Quinn shuffled out of Thomas’ hold, red-faced and wiping his eyes. Arden slid another bottle over the table towards him. Quinn hiccupped, sniffed, then took it.

“If Attano could see us now,” Arden huffed. “Cryin’ like a bunch of mudlarks.”

“He’d tell us to get over ourselves,” Galia sighed. “Stop whining and start making ourselves useful.”

“Yeah.” Quinn managed a small smile. “Sounds like him.”

“He’d be ashamed that we haven’t found Stride yet,” Thomas said.

“ _If I was here_ , he’d say,” Jordan began, in a deadpan mockery of Corvo’s voice, “ _I’d have found her two days ago_.”

“ _Shame on you all_ ,” Feodor joined in.

“ _Completely useless, all of you_.” Quinn’s jaw began to wobble again. “I’m gonna miss him.”

Thomas let him huddle back into his shoulder. “We all are.”

Daud had to lean back on the wall to steady himself. Void, he didn’t want to listen to this anymore. But he couldn’t bring himself to move away. He was near Corvo here; hearing his name, hearing him talked about. If Daud left, he’d lose him again. He couldn’t...

He looked back around the door.

Thomas’ thumb moved in slow circles over Quinn’s arm, and he was examining his companions solemnly. All of them shared the same desolate expression as they fiddled with their drinks or the cuffs of their sleeves, keeping their hands and heads distracted in any way they could.

Thomas cleared his throat. “You lot will like this,” he began, and everyone’s gazes flit towards him. “Corvo got himself an admirer on the Timsh job.”

The rest of them blinked and exchanged puzzled looks. But they were plainly grateful for the heavy silence to have been broken.

“You’re joking,” Galia said eventually. “Who?”

“An aristocrat. The man who paid us to have Timsh arrested.”

“That Roland prick?” Arden scoffed. “Not a fuckin’ chance. Attano’s too scruffy. And he’s got a mouth on him. Ain’t no prissy noble gonna go for that.”

“Roland seemed content enough, kissing him.”

Jordan spluttered on his whisky. Galia smacked him when a few drops dribbled onto her knee.

Quinn stared at Thomas. “He kissed him?”

“I’m callin’ instant bollocks on that,” Arden said, folding his arms. “Ain’t a chance in the Void.”

“Tom, seriously?”

The Whaler nodded at Quinn. “I saw the whole thing. Corvo was a little shell-shocked, to say the least. I half expected him to draw his sword, he seemed to be considering it.”

Arden barked out a laugh, slapping his fist on the table. “Now _that_ I can believe.”

“What _did_ he do?” Galia asked.

“I was rather impressed, actually,” Thomas said, “with how gently he turned the man down. Once he’d gotten over the initial surprise.”

Galia grinned, slapping Jordan’s back as he continued to cough his whisky down. “Was he good-looking? Roland?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

“Honestly, Attano,” Galia gave roll of her eyes, “Could’ve been the start of something, if you weren’t such a picky bastard.”

“He ain’t picky,” Arden cut in. “I don’t reckon he’s into it.”

Galia frowned. “Into what?”

“Sex and the like, like Leonid ain’t. I ain’t never seen him with someone, anyway.”

“Neither have I, come to think of it,” Feodor remarked.

“Nah, I think he’s into it. I mean, I don’t see him all night on Fugue,” Jordan said, having finally cleared his airway. “And he doesn’t hang around here, so he must go somewhere. Quinn?”

Quinn gave a short shake of his head. “Don’t ask me. Even I don’t know where he goes–” He swallowed hard. “Went. I don’t know where he went.”

Arden tugged him close this time, and let the Whaler slant into his side. “Yeah. Always was a slippery bastard, that one. And it’s gonna be empty as the fuckin’ Void without him here.” He raised his bottle above the table. _“Attano.”_

 _“Attano,”_ the rest answered in unison, and they lapsed into silence once more. The only sounds were heavy sniffs from Quinn here and there, and quiet chatter between Jordan, Galia and Thomas in futile attempts to hearten the mood.

“So, Tom,” Galia said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Tell us more about this Roland, then. Just how mad should I be that Corvo didn’t go for it?”

“He was a Morley man, I think. Tall, blue eyes. You’d have like him,” Thomas added, ignoring Jordan’s insulted intake of breath. “He seemed rather taken with Corvo, I have to say. Asked him twice whether there was any hope for them to meet again.”

“Wait, how do you know this?” Jordan asked. His eyes widened, “Outsider’s balls, Thomas, were you spying on him?”

Thomas barely managed to hide his grimace. “No. I was following my orders. Daud asked me to keep an eye–”

“You sly bastard, good for you!”

“Galia, I wasn’t spying–”

“And here we all thought you were an ass-kissing, by-the-book choffer all these years. I’m so proud of you,” Galia beamed. “Our little spy.”

“I was not spying.”

Daud stopped being able to hear them once he’d rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor. Everything was red, why was everything he saw _red?_ It didn’t matter, he knew the way to the Legal District by heart. He shoved past Yuri and Vladko when they tried to stop and ask him where he was going, they could have slowed him down and it was already getting dark, he didn’t have time for such _senseless delays_.

Over the Rail Station, past the flood gates, through the Distillery District.

He was breathing through gritted teeth, adrenaline making his veins throb and his hazed vision pulsate. It was only when he was on the rooftop opposite apartment eight, weapon gripped in his hand, that Daud came back to himself.

He gulped in a breath, trying to see through the gradually receding red clouding his eyes. Roland was smoking out on his balcony, in nothing more than a shirt and waistcoat despite the bitter evening. The nobleman looked calm against the encroaching night, oblivious to what had been about to happen.

Outsider’s eyes, what _had_ been about to happen? What had Daud come here to do? Run the nobleman through with a blade?

Kill him for daring to touch something that didn’t belong to him.

 _Didn’t belong to him?_ That wasn’t right, Daud wasn’t in his own mind.

What was he thinking?

He took in another lungful of air, his chest feeling far too tight to carry out something as simple as even that. Why was he here? Daud had no right to be here, to have such thoughts. Corvo had never been his to protect. Daud had no reason to have come here, seeking something as petty as killing a man just because he had touched something that had never belonged to either of them.

 _Though I’d run the man through for his nerve alone_ , Daud decided sourly, as Roland dared to stand in the open now, at ease and ignorant to Corvo’s fate. How had he the gall to look so content while he stood in Daud’s line of sight?

Void, Daud shouldn’t have come here.

He made it back to the Flooded District before the patrol changes. He took the route beneath the Empress’ statue; the way only a few in Rudshore knew, Billie and Corvo having been among them. His office was not a welcome sight, and he didn’t even step foot through the window before turning away and heading to the Grieves Refinery instead.

He sat above the factory’s sign, uncaring if anyone below caught sight of him and questioned why he was outside on such a cold night. He could now understand why Corvo had so favoured this place. It was quiet, difficult to reach, and cut off from the rabble beyond the Rail Station. The silence gave Daud opportunity to gather his thoughts. He felt all of a sudden foolish for leaving at all. It wasn’t like him, he knew, to make such hasty decisions without thought or deliberation.

Had he not come to his senses when he had, would Roland still be alive? Daud choked out a bitter laugh when he concluded that, _no, he wouldn’t be_. He had gone there to kill him, and he hadn’t even stopped to consider it.

He blamed grief. It seemed a reasonable answer for his actions. He had lost seven of his men. He couldn’t be held responsible for making rash decisions in a time of mourning.

 _That sounds like an excuse to me_. Daud heard Corvo’s low voice, criticising him as though they were sat side by side under the stars. _Why did you really go there?_

If he pushed all else into the background, Daud could see the man there. Perched in that way he did, arms resting on his knees, dark eyes searching Daud’s reaction. “Because he shouldn’t have touched you. Not when I never...” Never what? Had the chance? Realised how much Corvo had truly meant? Daud didn’t finish.

Corvo huffed, unimpressed. _A lot of people touch me. It’s annoying._

Daud found himself smiling, if only for a moment. “You dislike it, I’ve noticed. Though I’ve noticed too, that sullen expression of yours tends to fend most off.”

 _Good._ Corvo gazed out over the buildings beneath them, before glancing sidelong at him. _You’re blaming yourself for what happened to me._

“Of course I am.”

_You’re also talking to yourself._

“I’m talking to you.”

 _No, Daud._ Corvo had never met Daud’s gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. The way he looked steadily at him now broke any illusion that they were speaking at all. _You’re not._

Daud closed his eyes. And he knew, when they opened again, he’d be alone. “I know.”

Whether he’d killed Roland or not, Daud would have still been alone here now. It wouldn’t have changed anything, and he was a fool for thinking that it may have. Corvo was gone, Daud repeated like a sick mantra in his head, and he wasn’t coming back.


	2. I'll tell him

“Where’s Thomas? He hasn’t left your side for days, it’s strange not seeing him in here.”

Daud peered up from the reports to shoot a sour look Rulfio’s way. “He asked to join the others in finding Stride. He’ll return by this evening.”

Rulfio’s finger hovered over a book, before picking it from the shelf and flicking a few pages in. “And you allowed him to go?”

“What of it, Rulfio?”

The Whaler shrugged. Neither of them looked up from the desk or their selected book. “Nothing at all,” Rulfio answered after a moment. “It’s just surprising. You seemed determined to have him stay here.”

Daud felt his eyebrow twitch. It was true, he’d been reluctant to allow his men to stray far from Rudshore after the Overseers’ raid. But Stride needed to be found if there was to be any chance of passing the river barricades and reaching Brigmore.

“Thomas is a fine scout. Having him remain here would have been foolish. We’ll have Stride’s location faster with him in the fray.”

“Hm. Fair point.” Rulfio closed the book with a snap and slotted it back into its place. He paced to the desk, plucking a report from under Daud’s nose.

Daud grunted at him irritably. “Don’t you have someone else to hassle?”

They had argued again that morning. Their interactions only seemed to become more strained each day; it had been like that ever since Rulfio found out about Corvo’s involvement in Delilah’s investigation. And the Whaler’s attitude towards him had only grown more icy following the surge, and Corvo’s–

Daud closed his eyes, cutting off the thought.

“I’m taking refuge in here whether you like it or not,” Rulfio said, sitting on the edge of the desk. “I need a break from the pups. Little shits drive me mad.”

Daud sighed, but it was lax. In honesty, the company, _any_ company, was welcome. “Very well. I know there’s no getting rid of you once your mind’s made up. Might as well make yourself useful.” He elbowed a pile of reports towards the other man. “Good luck reading Finn’s handwriting. Chester’s efforts with him have been for nothing.”

“Wonderful.” Rulfio took the first paper on the heap, and squinted at Finn’s unintelligible scribble. He grimaced. “Thomas might return before I can even make the first word out.”

“Perhaps it’s your age. Eyesight worsens with age, I’ve heard.”

The remark earned him a slight curl at the corner of Rulfio’s mouth. Daud had missed the sight lately, and he hadn’t realised how much until he saw it then.

“I’m not that much older than you, if you’ll remember.”

“Eight years older, aren’t you? You’re catching up with Chester.”

“Chester’s a relic,” Rulfio scowled. “Take that back.”

Daud just offered him a thin smile, then focused back on the reports.

The air between them felt almost like it used to be. He suspected they both needed to return to some semblance of normality now, even for a mere hour or so, after everything that had happened. The two of them couldn’t have been called friends for the last six months at least, during which time Daud had done nothing but make mistake after mistake. Daud missed when they could laugh at one another’s jokes and harmless ridicule.

Perhaps Rulfio could even forgive him eventually, for Billie’s betrayal and for their slaughtered men. Daud would be grateful for that. But he couldn’t possibly expect forgiveness for Corvo’s fate, and that was something he knew he had to accept. Thanks to Daud’s foolishness, Rulfio had lost the closest thing he’d ever had to a son. No one could ask forgiveness for such a thing.

“You’ve been eyeing that same sheet of paper for two straight minutes.” Rulfio was looking at him with a sideways glance. “Trouble focusing?”

“Would it be so difficult to believe,” Daud answered bitterly.

“No. It wouldn’t.” Rulfio swallowed, and looked away. He opened his mouth to say more, but the rattle of the office doors interrupted him.

Rinaldo entered, his hair looking slightly dishevelled, as if he’d run there.

Daud stood from the desk when he caught sight of the stranger following Rinaldo inside. An older man, grey hair and sideburns, dressed plainly in commoner’s clothes. In the rim of his vision, Daud saw Rulfio’s hand rest on the hilt of his sword.

“You’re supposed to be at the cages, Rin,” Rulfio said in greeting, his gaze not straying from their unfamiliar guest.

Daud narrowed his eyes. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Rinaldo halted a few paces from them, motioning with one hand for his companion to stay back. The Whaler looked somewhat in shock.

“Rin,” Rulfio urged carefully. “What’s happened?”

Daud wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. What else could possibly have happened, after the anguish of the past week? He found himself thinking of Thomas. _Please_ , he pleaded Rinaldo silently, _not him too_. _Don’t you dare tell me he’s been taken from us, too._

“You won’t believe this,” Rinaldo answered. “I’ve just seen–” He stopped, ran a hand through his hair. “You’re going to think I’m mad. I’ve just spoken to Corvo.”

Something inside Daud fractured at the sound of his name. He had tried to avoid speaking it aloud, if he could.

“That’s not funny.” From beside him, Rulfio looked as far from amused as Daud felt. “Rinaldo, if you thought that would be funny–”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” Rinaldo said with a disbelieving laugh. “I know how it sounds, he was in Holger Square, I _know._ But he’s here. He was at the cages, just.” He gestured to his older companion, “He brought him here, this is Samuel. I have no idea how, I didn’t stop to ask, but he escaped somehow, he got away. He’s _alive–”_

Daud felt his reaction was justified. Rinaldo was one of their own, yes. But it still felt good to drive him against the wall by his throat and _squeeze._

“He’s here–” Rinaldo choked. “I swear, I saw him–”

Daud snarled. “You think this is a fucking joke?”

The toe of Rinaldo’s boot caught his shin, as the Whaler’s feet kicked above the ground. “Sir, I swear–”

“He swears, he says! Corvo’s alive, he says!” A least Rulfio was every bit as enraged as Daud. The Whaler was usually the voice of reason in situations such as these, and Daud had half expected the man to sigh and tell him to release his hold, tell him that he was going too far. But none of that came. “You should be fucking ashamed if you thought this would be funny.”

“I concur.” Daud felt Rinaldo’s throat convulse against his fingers when he tightened them.

The man, the _stranger_ Rinaldo had dared to bring into their home, stepped forward. Daud saw him move from the corner of his eye. “Uh, I believe I can vouch for the young man–”

“I’ll get to you in a moment,” Daud snapped. He couldn’t tolerate another _second_ of this.

Rulfio came into view at his side, and the pain of loss, still fresh in the man’s expression, left an acidic taste in Daud’s mouth. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, Rin, but it’s sick. How could you come here and–”

“It’s true–” Rinaldo spluttered when Daud’s fingers curled. “Please, Sir–”

The office doors behind them were shoved open. “Let him go.”

Nothing yet had been able to stop Daud’s heart, not a bullet or blade, but by the Void _that voice..._

Daud’s gaze snapped towards the door before he could even consider what he might see. He swore everything around him rushed to a violent halt. He had never, and knew he never would again, be more indebted to a sight than this.

He could have laughed at the first thing he noticed about Corvo; that the shirt he wore clearly wasn’t his. Such a mindless, trivial thing to take in, but the way the garment hung loose over the man’s shoulders was difficult to ignore. Everything about him was becoming difficult to ignore. He was the only thing in the room that was clear or defined, and it was _suffocating._

“Corvo?” Rulfio’s knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the desk, steadying himself.

Corvo, in answer, gave a nod in that manner he had; a blunt gesture, nothing more than a short jerk of his head. Daud’s eyes were drawn to the dark burns running along his jaw. Recent wounds. What had happened to him? Did Daud dare ask? He wouldn’t like the answers, did he even want them?

Corvo was here, somehow alive. Did anything else even matter for the moment? Would anything else ever matter again?

He hadn’t realised he’d released Rinaldo. The Whaler, now stood on two feet, muttered something under his breath. Daud didn’t hear it, frozen where he stood as he watched Rulfio close the space and take Corvo into his arms. The older Whaler’s shoulders were trembling as he and Corvo spoke. Most of what they said was too far-off to overhear, but Daud caught some.

“Fuck–” Rulfio seemed to say little else as he looked over Corvo’s face, at the marks of torture on his skin. “Fuck, if we’d known you were there, that you were alive, we would’ve– you know we would have–”

“Sentimental old man. I’m okay.” The low tenor of Corvo’s voice reeled him, unsteadied him. Daud was a fool to think he could replicate the sound in his head, convince himself that they were speaking above the Grieves Refinery.

“Get out.” Daud’s own voice sounded horribly distant to his own ears. He hoped it sounded like an order. An explicit one. One not to be refused on any account. “All of you, out.”

He would feel guilty for it, later, when he recalled the reluctance in Rulfio’s eyes to leave Corvo’s side. But he, Rinaldo, and the man Corvo had brought with him eventually heeded Daud’s word and left.

Corvo stayed.

Daud watched him. The way he so stubbornly avoided his gaze from across the room. The way he stood, jaw set tight in his reserve. The way his bottom lip stirred, barely noticeable, as he chewed on the inside of his mouth. Everything was so familiar, so _unmistakably Corvo_ , and he–

When had he moved? Or had Corvo moved? Outsider's eyes, what did it matter. “Forgive me.” He murmured his apologies, lips pressed to the burn marks across Corvo’s jawline. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Had Corvo always been so lithe compared to him? The man felt so slight, like glass in his arms. Like something absurdly, unearthly precious he needed to guard with all he had. Corvo felt so good against him–

Void, how had Daud been so blind for all these years?

He allowed Corvo to pull back, but not far. The man wiped his eyes in one motion, on the back of the shirt cuff that didn’t belong to him. Daud would ask later. It suited him, whosever’s it had been.

“Rin told me about Leon’s group.” Corvo’s gaze met his for one, two seconds, before fixing on something elsewhere. “I’m sorry.”

Daud tried to scoff. What left him sounded more strangled. “You have nothing to be sorry for. We thought–”

“I know. But I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine. His injuries needed to be seen to, sooner rather than later. Daud would have voiced that aloud, but Corvo continued.

“There was no one else?”

It took a moment for Daud to comprehend what he was asking. “Quinn and the others are alright. Leon’s group were the only ones we burned.”

Corvo nodded, as relieved as he could be given the circumstances. He frowned as something occurred to him. “I missed their vigils.”

“You’re concerned about missing–” Daud didn’t know whether to laugh or break down. “Void, I think you had a good enough excuse.” He dragged Corvo closer instead, feeling calmer, reassured, with the man’s warmth and weight against him once again. “I should have come for you. I just assumed–”

“I would’ve assumed, too.” Corvo answer was muffled against his shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t come. And that... you’re alright.”

There was so much diffidence in Corvo’s voice, as though he wasn’t sure he should be saying it. It made Daud’s chest ache. He ran his fingers through Corvo’s hair, wondering whether that was alright. Corvo didn’t tell him to stop. For a man so prided on his own self-discipline, Daud couldn’t have stopped himself anyway. “I’m glad you’re alright, as well.”

 _Glad_ was a modest way of putting it. But it seemed to get the point across, as Corvo shifted closer against him.

They didn’t have long alone. Soon enough, as Daud had predicted, Quinn burst through the doors. Rulfio had probably sent for him. The Whaler broke Corvo’s nose upon seeing him again, but Corvo allowed himself to be held and fussed over for the remainder of the day. Daud had to admire his fortitude; it was easy to tell how uncomfortable all the attention was making him.

 _I have to talk to him_ , Daud acknowledged to himself that evening, looking across the kitchen to where Corvo sat. _He needs to know that I–_

The kettle began to whistle, and Daud poured the coffee. He knew Corvo didn’t usually drink coffee black, but they were out of everything else. It would have to do for now, and he imagined the man wouldn’t complain. Daud brought the drink over, and sat on the table beside him.

 _I have to talk to him_ , he repeated, watching Corvo glare under Quinn and Rulfio’s teasing. _And when I do, I’ll tell him._


End file.
